


Trick-or-Treat

by Dusty_Forgotten



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Domestic, Gen, Halloween, M/M, Suburbia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-13
Updated: 2015-10-13
Packaged: 2018-04-26 06:54:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4994569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dusty_Forgotten/pseuds/Dusty_Forgotten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pretending you're a child molester is certainly one way to avoid buying Halloween candy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trick-or-Treat

Castiel has always hated Halloween- ever since he was a kid, and his older brothers got a bunch of fake blood, clay, and a couple cantaloupes, and pretended to decapitate each other. Some of the others got a kick out of it, but Cas was eleven, and had nightmares for months. Anna (the youngest at twenty now) still can’t go to haunted houses.

When he was fifteen he got really into Creepypasta, and he can watch the eighteenth Saw- or whatever gorefest is popular this year- with no problem. He doesn’t do much for Halloween: a jack-o-lantern on the porch, watches Dracula at midnight. He’s the kind of person to host extravagant parties with scripted murder/mystery floor shows, and meatloaf shaped like a burn victim. You, know, if he had friends.

Besides, the homeowner’s association would have a fit about all the cars in the street.

Castiel lives in kind of a stuck-up neighbourhood; the only one who didn’t leave the city when he left the nest. That puts him near his parents, and far, far away from his brothers. He’s not fond of the whole, “white picket fence, keep your cat inside, he might hurt my yorkie” vibe, but he once left a fifty dollar bill in the driveway for four days before he found it. Still where he left it.

But, you see, no kid that makes it home by eight-o’-clock every night and offers to mow the lawn is normal. When Halloween rolls around, it’s like the good little suburban children shed their caucasian skins and embody the hellspawn they are inside.

Eight houses in the cul-de-sac give out full size candy bars. Cas would bet you that fifty it’s out of fear. Mr. Abernathy the block over was out of town one year: when he got back, his entire home and car had been plastered in post-it-notes. To this day, he’s finding them in his begonias.

This year, Castiel made a mistake. He marathoned American Horror Story in the spirit of the season, and ate half his trick-or-treater candy without even noticing. This is a grave error. It’s forecasted to rain tomorrow; he’ll never get all the toilet paper down by then.

There’s only one option left... Mooch off the neighbours.

He’s only really familiar with one; a lawyer he knows as Crowley (first, last, or nickname, he hasn’t a clue) in the colonial two-story across the street. He’s like Cas in that he lives alone and never attends the block parties. They haven’t had much formal interaction, but he once got Crowley’s Amazon order for the complete fourth season of Doctor Who, and only barely restrained himself from asking to join him watching it. It doesn’t hurt that he’s got a a face like a retired cologne model.

Cas has a while to rehearse his opener after he rings the bell. And no one answers. Crowley seems like one of those people to say, “I heard you the first time” if you ring more than once, so he stands there almost ten minutes, to the point he starts wondering if he actually rang the bell, or it was his imagination. He gets up the courage to knock.

Not a minute later, the door comes open.

“Oh, uh...” And Cas forgets his line.

Crowley raises a perfect eyebrow. “Do you need something?”

“Yeah, uh, just, your doorbell...” That’s definitely not in the script.

“Doesn’t work, yeah.” He smiles in a way that gets Castiel wondering how accidental that is. “Now, are you a doorbell salesman, or was there something else?”

“Oh, um...” Get it together, you hopeless dweeb. “I’m out of Halloween candy.”

“Can’t help you there,” he replies, and Cas should have known he’d hoard it, selfish prick, “haven’t bought any.”

Wait... “You... You don’t have any?”

“Not a Twix in the house. Haven’t been, four years running.”

Cas leans back and glances at the front of the house. It looks fine, unmarred. Better than his actually, but his needs painting. There’s shock evident on his face when he looks back at the lawyer, grinning self-satisfied. He has a secret. Cas wants in. “How?”

Crowley slips his hands in his slack pockets, and shrugs. Coy bastard has the suburban equivalent of a politician in his pocket, and he’s not telling. “Come to think of it, I haven’t had a trick-or-treater in that long...”

Castiel grabs him by the tie. “What are you _hiding?_ ”

He plays casual, but he loves the game. “I may have told a parent I love Halloween because it’s the only time I’m allowed within a hundred yards of children...”

Cas looks at him like he’s just divulged the cure for cancer, and he grins back. “Do you like Dracula?” Castiel asks at last.

“I’m fond, yes.”

“You’re coming to my house to watch it- and you’re answering the door.”

Genius bastard smiles. “Gladly.”

The first trick-or-treater doesn’t even ask for candy before his mother’s apologizing for bothering Crowley, and drags the kid away. They follow-up Dracula with the fourth season of American Horror Story, completely uninterrupted.


End file.
